CABBAGE PATCH KIDS AND BAD FAITH

I saw a new movie about Beanie Babies is playing on Apple TV. That prompted a memory. 

In 1982 I graduated from high school and started working at Sears in Springfield, Missouri. At the time, the store was located near downtown (the site of the current Expo Center), but later that year it moved to the newly expanded Battlefield Mall. I began as a salesperson in the paint and electrical departments, but later expanded to toys and sporting goods. I was a good salesman. The store manager, Mr. Nelson, once told me I had a “big future in big-ticket sales, if you ever want to go that way.” I didn’t. I wanted to work 30 hours a week and pay my rent until I finished college.

On February 28, 1983, my coworkers and I unhooked the Atari 2600s on display, put rabbit ears on the TVs, and stood in the aisle watching the final episode of “M*A*S*H.” It was one of the best 2 ½-hours of television. Full stop. It also turned out to be one of the largest non-Super Bowl television audiences in history, with an estimated 106 million viewers, topped only by Richard Nixon’s resignation speech and the Apollo 11 moon landing. Those figures wouldn’t have surprised us, in the toy department at Sears. We ended up pulling out chairs and snacks and watching the whole episode, because the store was empty the entire night. 

One shelf away from the Ataris were the Cabbage Patch Kids. A few months earlier, the madness had swept over the country. We couldn’t keep them in stock. We resorted to limiting one doll per customer, to prevent resellers from cleaning us out and quadrupling their money. It got so bad at one point, people would queue up outside the store in the morning to rush in and grab a doll before they sold out. 

I once wheeled a large four-wheel cart of them out of the stockroom and was set upon by rabid customers. After one woman went down, arms and legs akimbo, I said, in my soon-to-be-teacher’s voice, “If you all can’t handle yourselves like adults, I’ll turn this cart around right now.” Scanning the faces of naughty, naughty people, I added, “We don’t have to sell them to you.” Someone snorted, “He can’t do that.” So that’s exactly what I did. I’ve never seen a group of adults look so shocked and forlorn, as when the bad man took away their dolly.

I came back out and went about my business. The customers all milled around and tried to put on their best behavior, like kids who had been offered ice cream if they would STOP IRRITATING THEIR FATHER. Eventually I brought the cart back out, and everyone very calmly and patiently…wiped out our supply of Cabbage Patch Kids. 

We went days without a new shipment. The calls kept coming in.

“Do you have any Cabbage Patch dolls?”

“No.”

“Do you know when you’ll get them?”

“No.”

“Will you take down my name and call me when they come in?”

“No.”

One day we got an unusually large shipment of dolls. I started unboxing them. They were all Black. I smiled. I might have danced a little in the stockroom. This was gonna be fun!

We got the shelves all stocked and ready for the next morning. When the doors were opened, dozens of Cabbage-hungry flea marketers flooded into the toy department – many of them were repeat offenders customers. 

It’s worth mentioning at this point that Springfield was (and remains) one of the whitest cities in the nation. We’ve never effectively dealt with our racist past, and we’re not dealing with it in the present either. The lack of diversity and the power of white supremacy in our community is number one on my list of reasons to move away. But, that’s a topic for another essay, or essays, or books.

It probably goes without saying that the gang of Cabbage snatchers flowing into the store were all white.

As they rounded the corner, barely able to keep the drool from running out of their mouth-breathing faces, they started to scan the shelves for the one they wanted. I watched them closely. First, they squinted like they couldn’t see well, then they pulled their heads back and swiveled left and right, like they had just noticed a bad smell. I approached some of them and asked, “Is there a problem?”

“Uhh, no. No. I…uh…think she already has this one.”

“What about this one?” (They had unique identities and slightly different appearances.)

“Umm. I’m not…uh…sure.”

“You’re not a…racist are you?”

“Ohh nooo. Not me! I think it’s…uh…great!”

“Well, you should get one then, before they’re all gone.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna shop around a little first.”

“Okay. Have a nice day!” Fuckers.

For a while it was funny – sticking it to these hypocritical assholes – but that soon changed. I can’t remember if I cried, but I remember feeling embarrassed and ashamed of my community. 

Eventually it was a feeling I grew accustomed to. 

The sadness and anger comes from a lot of different places. Mostly it’s because of bad faith – the toxic religion many people practice that is more rooted in white supremacy than grace, forgiveness, and truth; and also (bad faith) arguments built on dishonesty, misdirection, and hypocrisy. It’s the lies. We’re liars, because it hurts too much to face up to our own cognitive dissonance, to confront facts and face reality. We’re cowards. And cowardice makes us mean. Bad faith is why arguments and debates are often pointless now. Few people can be trusted to argue in good faith.

I’m working on finding new ways through this, but no big breakthroughs yet. That would work, anyway. It’s like Cornel West said, when I met him on the campus of Harvard in 2017, “It’s bleak out there, my brother. It. Is. Bleak.” Amen, and amen.

There I go again. Sorry. I wish I had a weird-looking doll I could give you to make you feel better.